Winter Song
by Kelsers
Summary: He left her to die. He comes back to agony, only to leave a second time from the earth that hurts him. On the cliff where she had taken her own life because she couldn't live without him. This was his winter song to her.


**Summary: He left her to die. He comes back to agony, only to leave a second time from the earth that hurts him. On the cliff where she had taken her own life because she couldn't live without him. This was his winter song to her. **

**Winter Song by Sara Bareilles & Ingrid Michaelson - Look it up on youtube or something. Before reading. **

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_This is my winter song to you_

_The storm is coming soon_

_It rolls in from the sea_

_My voice a beacon in the night_

_My words will be your light_

_To carry you to me_

_**I left her. I left her. I left her.**_

The steady mantra kept time with his pounding feet. He sprinted numbly to the cliff, the blood-stained point of darkness, where his life had departed from this black world.

His hair was plastered to his face with the falling rain and the churning clouds above predicted the grim future. The spiny trees towering around him cast dark shadows on him, suffocating him, pushing the sickly world down on him. It was relentless, it was cruel, it was what he wanted, it was what he deserved.

The wind howled in circles around him, bringing the same screams and cries for him back to him. Her voice never felt more real, and it never burned him more.

_**I left her.**_

His lungs were ripping with sobs and the effort to get the needed oxygen in, but he couldn't feel it. He couldn't feel the icy tears mixing with rain on his face or the dozens of tiny scratches through his clothes. He so desperately wished that he _could_ feel all of the physical pain. He would replace the empty burning hole of where his heart had been for all the external throbbing, but at the same time, he felt he deserved it. He had never wanted the pain of regret and guilt and anguish and agony more than then.

The soggy ground under him gave way from beneath his feet many times, but he was moving too fast and too steady to be brought down. His forgotten cell phone vibrated in his pocket and prickled up into his guilty conscience, but he wouldn't answer it. He took it out with numb fingers, and without looking at who was calling, whipped his arm out and threw it into a tree. He heard the small shatter of fragile metal and glass, and felt a grim satisfaction.

But it was cut short when he suddenly ran out of the cover of trees.

Five men in dark parkas with shovels and pickaxes in hand were stabbing at the rough ground. A shallow rectangle was recognizable to even the blind eyes, and a small, dainty cross was lying in the grass next to them. Muffled curses and complaints were exchanged between them as they worked, but one was particularly quiet. Sorrow weighed his bowed shoulders down, and his red eyes indicated the tears that ran with the rain down his nose. The other four didn't hassle him or give him problems at his shaky progress, they just let him be in their own respectful way.

Through the entire bustle, the boy only had eyes for the dark casket sitting almost peacefully towards the edge of the cliff. Its deathly hold reached out and gripped him, bringing him to it.

His ears were deaf to outside noises, and didn't hear the shouts or restraints. He only noticed the men when one came and put his hand on the boy's shoulder, startling him.

The boy recognized the grieving eyes of the one who stopped him, and read his lips. "Sorry," the man mouthed, looking down and away from the boy's eyes.

He opened his mouth, but only his choking breath came out.

The man understood though, and turned to yell something at the others over the thundering storm. They all looked at him and the boy behind him for a second before dropping their tools and turning away. They shuffled to the other side, where the bare trees had been cut away, and he could see a small strip of asphalt and dripping, unused tables. He watched the men retreat until they were too far away and he was all alone with just the living trees and shrubs.

He wanted to turn and face his love behind him, but his feet wouldn't move.

The wind was stronger up here and the rain poured harder. It swirled around him and mixed with the shadows of anguish that had been following him in his journey. The biting cold contradicted with the burning inside of him, and the wounding difference tore him in two,disconnected him from his body. He wasn't controlling himself anymore, just merely watching the poor dying boy as he turned and walked slowly to the lid of the casket.

It glimmered like diamonds and was so dark that it gave off a dark blue sheen. The edges were carved ornately, gently. It looked like he could mold it himself with his fingers.

The boy's shallow breath quickened as he reached for the latch on the big lid. His shaking fingers slipped a couple times off of the dainty silver before his could lock onto it. He finally got the latch open, and paused to take in a shaky breath, before lifting the heavy lid up.

He slammed back into his burning body like a shattering bullet, and fell to his knees at the side of the coffin.

He sobbed harder and felt his throat burning with effort to keep the tidal wave from spilling out of his eyes. His hands clutched onto the wood with a vice-like grip and he pressed his forehead painfully into it, hiding his eyes.

Her body was the vision of an angel.

She was clothed in an elegant, white, nightdress and her hair was loose and flowing around her, framing her face. Her skin was pale and smooth, soft as silk. Her nose had a gentle slope to it; he could remember all the times she had scrunched it up so cutely and called it a pig nose. Her lips were parted slightly in the middle and a sickly pale pink; different from all the times he remembered those scarlet lips smiling, laughing, kissing, talking, screaming, crying. Her lavender eyelids hid her beautiful eyes from him, and he longed to see them pointed towards him one more time.

He howled in agony and slammed his head against the wood. Longing and pain and guilt churned in his black heart and took his breath away. He longed to be with her. He longed to kiss her, to hold her close, to never let go and make the mistake that killed them both. He longed to apologize and have her scream at him, he longed to see her tears and know that he caused them, and be the one to wipe them away. He longed to tell her he loved her and have her repeat it to him. He longed to give her the ring that he had hiding away. He longed to be with her forever.

He suddenly staggered up to his feet and his eyes darted around frantically, searching.

Spotting the shovels and pickaxes scattered around the gaping hole, he stumbled over to them as quickly as his shaking muscles would allow. The pickax next to him shone through the darkness, its pointy tip whispering his name. He reached down swiftly, wanting to shut it up, for he only wanted to hear that name spoken through her lips. But, the gritty metal glowed in his hands and gave him a sick, twisted hope.

He turned and knelt back at her side. Staring hungrily, memorizing her face one last time, he took the edge of the metal and shoved it into the crook of his arm.

He gritted his teeth against the pain biting at his flesh, and gasped when he pulled away and felt the wind singing it with ice.

_**I deserve it… I deserve it…**_

He dropped the bloody ax, and reached up to cup her soft face. His other arm throbbed and hot scarlet flowed down in ribbons, staining his clothes and forming a puddle at his knees.

"I'm sorry," he mouthed around his gasping breath that felt staler by the second.

His rough hand slid down her satiny skin, feeling one last time, down to her hand, and he grasped it in his gently. He brought it to his trembling lips, feeling her for the last time.

"I did it for you," his lips formed against her hand.

His head felt too heavy and his lungs felt too small. Her perfect face was blurring before his eyes and he cried out in pain. The hot liquid burned his skin were it flowed out, and everything started gradually numbing with each breath.

His hand fell from hers and his head thudded onto the lip of the coffin, inches from hers. The blood staining the earth around him grew darker and darker with his impending death.

He died, kneeling next to her lying body, needing to be with her, where she had taken her own life, because she couldn't live without him.

_Is love alive?_

_Is love alive?_

_Is love…_

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**Good or Bad? Review? ****I warned you in the summary. **

**You can decide who you want the Romeo and Juliet to be. As for the crying gravedigger, I actually think of either Jacob or Jasper. **

**:) NewResolution**

**-Kelsey**


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